


sometimes right there

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [6]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Challenge 3 Side RP
Series: Selection OC 6 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209
Kudos: 1





	sometimes right there

**Author's Note:**

> This is short, but it's also important. As always, only me, Grammarly, and God.
> 
> Side RP with Arin Schreave. Thank you, Anna.
> 
> Do I wish I added more? Yeah. Will I? Nah.

The hallways were practically at a point of memorization that she didn’t need to even keep her eyes open to navigate, but she did anyway so as not to accidentally knock down a vase worth twice as much as her own life. The route to the kitchen was especially familiar, though she hadn’t come down at all this week and not at this hour either, having forced herself to remain in her room until it all became too much, and then and only then did she allow herself to venture out and risk fucking up her sleep schedule even more than she already had.

She didn’t see a single maid soul in the hallway that night, only the shadows of guards on occasion, but even then there were few. When the entrance to the kitchen was thing her sights, she gave a sigh of relief. The smallest of sanctuaries. 

Except the moment she came within five feet of the door, the fire alarm went off inside, and she could only watch as none other than Arin Schreave frantically waved a dish towel toward the alarm, curses falling from his lips as he went. After the last time she’d seen him, he was probably one of the last people she wanted to see. Even still, he hadn’t exactly done anything wrong, not anything he could’ve been aware of anyway. 

“You good?” she called out over the alarm, and he simply looked back at her with a look of disbelief as he rushed over to the oven to turn it off. She walked in then to lean against one of the counters. “So you’re not good?” 

“Thanks for the help,” he said once the alarm finally turned off, waving the towel a few more times for good measure before finally dropping it.

She kept her eyes on him for a moment before walking further into the kitchen, headed toward the place she knew they kept the non-fancy snacks. “You’re welcome,” she said as she pulled out a bag of Cheetos from the cabinet, not likely the same bag that they’d eaten from last time but from the same place. Was she raiding the royals’ snacks? Possibly, but that was Arin’s own doing. She was almost tempted to just leave him because, really, she had no reason to stay, but she took one glance at the stove before looking back at him and deciding she really had nothing better to do, and it didn’t look like he did either. “It's a little late for a meal, isn't it?”

His eyes were on the Cheetos for a moment before he looked to her eyes. “I was making cookies.”

She raised her eyebrows as she unraveled the already-opened back of Cheetos. “Cookies.” She kept her eyes on him as she ate one.  _ Test me. _ “What kind?”

“Snickerdoodles.”

“That’s…” She trailed off as she chewed. Making cookies at 2am. Baking at this hour was always a product of few things, and most of them were not positive. “Snickerdoodles are good.” Her eyes shifted around the kitchen, first to the scotch glass sat on the counter and then to the book next to it.  _ Systems of Necessary Authority & Power _ came back to haunt her again. She should have known. “You got it.”

His eyes flit to the book before returning back to her. It didn’t take as much effort to stay normal this time, but even having that book in the room drained energy every second she was there. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “I'm almost done with it actually—You know, if you want it back.”

_ Want it back. _ God no. She shook her head, eyes remaining on the Cheetos. She could feel herself beginning to distance again and had to force herself back, too afraid he would notice and make things worse again. “No, it's okay. I've read it my fair share of times.”

“You know that's the last bag of Cheetos, right?” A change of subject. He was getting it, even if he didn’t have to. She would appreciate him for that at least.

She looked from the bag to him and the way he seemed to be eyeing her down before tucking the bag further into her side. “I didn't, but I'm glad I'm eating it then.” That was her opportunity to leave with his Cheetos in hand, and it would’ve been so easy too, but she didn’t, couldn’t. Whatever it was. Her eyes settled back on the scotch. “You drink a lot?” Maybe confronting his problems with drinking wasn’t the best idea, but as long as the attention was off her, she could find a way to deal with the situation.

“It helps me sleep.”

She’d heard that excuse before. She knew it never really worked out the way one wanted it to, though. “You know they have pills for that, right?”

“I’m aware.” 

His tight smile wasn’t very convincing, but she wasn’t about to open that can of worms with someone she barely knew. Instead, she took a few steps into the aisle he stood and hoisted herself up onto one of the counters, legs dangling down as she continued eating. “Self-medication is a slippery slope. Just be careful.” She wasn’t sure if she would’ve told him the reason if he asked, but he didn’t, only narrowed his eyes at her as he came closer, leaning back against the counter in front of her. “What?” she asked as she returned his expectant stare and tilted the bag of Cheetos toward him. “You want some?”

“No, I just wanted to sit here and watch you eat them.”

She pulled the bag back with a shrug, not satisfied at all with the answer. He didn’t deserve the Cheetos. “Doesn't sound like a good time if you ask me, but whatever suits your fancy, I guess.” She ate another Cheeto just to piss him off this time.

“You’re really quite the smartass.”

She wasn’t quite sure why that phrase combined with him reaching for the bag made her pulse race out of all the things he’d done, but she always did have the worst taste in men. “Somehow that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” she said as she handed it over. As if she wouldn’t.

He took the bag and immediately rattled it just a bit, looking inside before picking out a singular one from the top. She’d never seen someone eat a Cheeto with such care. “I must be slipping up then.”

She swung her legs a little, bumping her socked heels against the cabinet beneath her with a small  _ thud. _ “In what way?”

“Poor joke,  _ Bombus. _ ” He picked out another Cheeto from the bag in that irritating way of his.

_ Bombus. _ She wrinkled her nose at the name and set out a hand for the bag. She didn’t mind sharing so long as she actually got her  _ share. _ “Find a different pet name,  _ Dreamsicle. _ ”

Instead of holding it out for her to take, he simply continued picking through the bag of Cheetos, seeming to want to find the most satisfactory one. “What’ll you give me for it?”

_ That’s the question, isn’t it? _ “What do you want?”

He took out a Cheeto from the bag and popped it into his mouth. “What are my options?” Putting it back on her. She should’ve known he would. 

She crossed one leg over the other, sitting in her best lawyer position they’d taught her with that gaze that usually got people to confess, even if it was just in mock trial. “Ask me anything you’re willing to tell yourself.” Easy questions would be easy. Hard questions… Well, she didn’t expect to get there.

“And if I refuse?”

She shrugged. “Then both of us get nothing. Simple.”

He gave her a look that just screamed she’d made a fatal miscalculation. “Except then I have the Cheetos all to myself.”

Jen narrowed her eyes because of the blatant betrayal of the action when she so kindly shared with him. They may have technically been his, but he had no right. She had to make him regret it. With her eyes on his, she hopped down from the counter and took a few steps to her right to grab his glass of scotch off the counter, ignoring the book next to it as she hopped back up onto the counter in front of him. Her eyes didn’t stay from his when she drank from his glass, though she might’ve let a small wince show.

She knew the pursuit was worth it the moment his face turned from calm to disgust. “I was going to drink that, you know.”

She took another sip from the glass before holding the glass in her lap, tapping it with her fingernails. The last time she’d drank scotch with him, she’d passed out and gotten some of the best sleep of her life, but she never liked the haze of alcohol, the way it made her feel. She wouldn’t be drinking much more. “And I was going to eat the Cheetos, so here we are.” She tilted her head to the side to consider him. “What are you going to do about it?”

His hold on the Cheeto bag didn’t lapse when he began walking toward a cabinet, pulling out that familiar bottle of scotch that he seemed to love and taking a clean glass out of a cabinet before setting them on the counter she was sitting but several feet away.

She took another drink from her—well,  _ his _ —glass before setting it down for good this time as she took in exactly what he was doing. “Now you're just cheating.”

“ _ And? _ What are you going to do about it?” Still holding onto the Cheetos, he opened the bottle of scotch and poured himself another glass, no idea just how much he was testing her.

_ Okay, maybe one more drink, _ she thought as she lifted the glass up to her lips again just to prove a point and tried not to think about him drinking from the same glass. That was a dangerous train of thought that would lead nowhere good. “Nothing. Just be warned I'm a lightweight, so unless you want to be carrying me back to bed, then it's probably wise to give that bag back.”  _ Or maybe you could carry me back to bed either way. _ At the thought, she grimaced.  _ Damn it. _

“It's bold of you to assume I wouldn't let you sleep wherever you pass out for the night. You're in the safest building in the entire country,” he said before taking a sip of his own glass, “so if you want to get drunk and sleep in the kitchen be my guest.”

She set down her drink again, sending it a glare solely for wasting her time. “You really are a heartthrob, aren’t you?”

She wished he would wipe that smirk off his own face, for her mental health if nothing anything else. “Why do you ask? Interested?” He set his glass on the counter, his eyes on hers, and she just hoped they looked as done with him as she actually was. 

“Yes, I'd die for the opportunity for a man to leave me blackout drunk alone in his kitchen. Very interested in that.” Not even just Ian, though she was sure there were many incidents with him near the top of her list if she’d actually made one.

“You have very specific tastes.”

She huffed a laugh. He really had no idea, and, honestly, neither did she. “I've been in considerably worse situations with worse people. Don't think you're special.” Maybe she was stupid for feeling some semblance of safety with him, but she did. He was just nice enough and just enough not interested in her that she didn’t worry.

“So have I—Sort of,” he said, probably assuming she’d meant stupid college things, though those were certainly a part in the madness. “But I won't tell if you won’t.”

He was actually willing to say something? That was a first. He couldn’t have had that much scotch either. 

Before she could reply, he slid the bag of Cheetos toward her, and she accepted them gratefully but still gave him a look. He usually wasn’t so giving, but then again, she really did barely know him. “So if I tell, you will too?” she asked, taking a small handful from the bag and putting one in her mouth before passing them back to him.

“Sure.” He passed them back to her without taking any, and she just watched it settle next to her. “You keep them.”

She reached to grasp the bag with narrowed eyes, pulling it closer next to her as if he would come back and steal it. Knowing him, he might. “Fine. My ex-boyfriend brought me to a party, used money I loaned him to buy coke, and got so high that he passed out on some guy's couch and left me alone at night in an unfamiliar neighborhood without a way to get home.” Her eyes on him, she ate another Cheeto.

“I…” His voice faltered, and he shook his head. “Can’t top that.”

She doubted he could. Any number of stories she could’ve told, but she had to find the one with the perfect amount of unpredictability yet was tame enough not to freak him out too badly. She couldn’t rightly tell him most of her stories in college, especially not the most recent ones. “You don’t have to top it.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath as he ran his free hand through his hair and took one more drink before speaking. “When I was doing my year abroad F—My friend came to visit and we'd shaken my guard so we went out to this club. At some point, I went to sit at a table and I fell asleep so of course, the bouncer took me outside. I kept trying to call my friend but they wouldn't pick up and they wouldn't let me back inside. So in Flemish, I tried to tell them what they looked like but I couldn't remember the word for brown so I went through and told them every color their hair wasn't... But eventually, I had to give up and find my own way home.”

Jen vaguely registered the fact it was the most words he’d ever uttered in her general direction, but she didn’t comment on it. She wasn’t going to ruin the casual atmosphere until he did it himself. Unless it was deserved, of course. “So the prince of Illéa has a wild side?”

He took another drink. “And a poor memory when it comes to Flemish colors.”

She understood that. Her own languages tended to become a jumbled mix sometimes. “Didn’t know you spoke Flemish. What others?” Next to her, the glass of scotch seemed to call her name, even if when she lifted it to her lips it tasted just as bad as it did the last time.

“French and Swendish… and English,” he added after a second, his eyebrows furrowed like he was wondering why the hell she was asking about what languages he spoke.

She set the glass down again and picked another Cheeto off her hand. “English is my second.” She smiled a bit but didn’t look up to him. “There’s a secret for you.”

“And what’s the first?”

Finally, questions she could answer. “Cantonese. Don’t use it much anymore.” Her dad had stopped speaking it after he’d married Deirdre because he really didn’t have a need to. She didn’t talk much to her mother either, and her sister sounded like a child when she spoke it. “German’s my third.” Arguably the better one. She’d spent most of her life speaking it, so it ought to have been.

There was a small smile on his lips when he spoke again. “I’ve always wanted to learn German.”

Everyone who has ever lived has said that, but she wasn’t cold enough to tease him. “You should. It’s where I grew up.” She glanced from him to the oven, not giving any time for the information to settle for either of them. She missed home, yet really not enough to go back. The less he could ask of it, the better. “So these Snickerdoodles I've been hearing about…” 

His gaze followed hers, not commenting on her blatant change of subject. “Oh, they’re ruined.”

“Typical,” she muttered, though she couldn’t exactly rightly comment on his lack of baking skills. More than once she’d fallen asleep with brownies in the oven at 2am and woken up to a charred brick. “You were standing right next to them. How did you manage to burn them?”

“I’m not sure,” he lied. “It must have been the oven.”

“Sure, blame it on the oven and not your mediocre baking skills.”

He let out a heavy sigh, finally defeated. “I dozed off, okay? It happens.”

She took one glance at his glass of scotch before returning to him. She’d felt the effects of the scotch pretty easily after that night together, and she never considered herself a sleepy drunk, so it was easy to imagine it causing him to doze when it shouldn’t have. “If you're dozing off, you probably shouldn't be making cookies in the middle of the night. Sounds like a recipe for disaster if you ask me.”

He laughed at her recipe comment, though the pun was not intentional. “What would you have me do right now instead?”

“Maybe be in bed like a normal person instead of talking to me while eating Cheetos.” She finished off the last few pieces in her hand, shrugging her shoulders a little. Not too much dust on her fingers. “It's the second time we've been in this position. I may begin to worry.”

His lean against the counter deepened. “And what if it's not so bad?”

_ Not so bad. _ No one had ever really defined her company like that, but it felt kinda nice. “Then I’d say…” God, what would she say? His wasn’t exactly terrible either, even if he could be grating. She could think of worse people to spend time with, but she wouldn’t put herself high on the list. “You could probably find better company if you tried.” And it was true. He had a whole group of girls that would probably just love to spend their night with the prince they were actually supposed to be getting to know. Instead, he was here with her.

“What if I have tried?” He took a few steps closer, his hand reaching out for just a second to take the bag of Cheetos before he seemed to think better of it.

“Then I guess we’re stuck with each other,” she told him, hating the way it sounded yet loving it at the same time.  _ Stuck with each other _ . It was almost laughable, but some part of her didn’t mind it.

“Maybe we are.” He stopped to lean against the counter in front of her again. “But aren’t all married couples?”

Were they still doing that? She would have to take note. “I'm a child of divorce, so perhaps not,” she said, mostly to ruin the mood.

He gave a nod, not one of pity but just some sort of acknowledgment. “I’m sorry. I must have overlooked that…” 

The end of his sentence was rushed, cut off a little bit. Not that suspicious by itself, but something made her feel like that wasn’t the case. “Overlooked what?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head like he was trying to convince both her and himself. “I just didn't know that is all.”

Something wasn’t right. She could feel it. The dismissiveness felt disingenuine, even if he was like that sometimes. This wasn’t one of those nights. He was acting as if he should’ve known but didn’t, like it was information she’d already told that he’d forgotten, but she knew that wasn’t the case because she told very few people about her parents’ divorce already. There was also her arrest he knew about, though she supposed that could’ve been disclosed on her background check, but that combined with the glaring knowledge of things he knew but shouldn’t have made her question things. “Do you have information about me or something?”

She knew he did. She just needed to hear him admit it.

“Jen…” The silence wasn’t long, but it was telling. He closed his eyes. “Yes, I do.”

Finally a lick of honesty, and it was about this. “So you can just read things about us you're supposed to find out for yourself when it takes you downing a glass of scotch for every piece of information you divulge? Am I understanding that right?” She gave herself credit. At least her voice was calm.

“You’re right,” he told her after a moment. “I shouldn’t have read them.”

She blinked in surprise because she really was not expecting it to be that easy. If they were on that godforsaken date, she was sure it would’ve been a battle to even get him to say  _ something, _ but she would take the small victory, even if a part of her was still a little angry at the idea. “I don't care that you read it, Arin. It's not like any of it is some huge secret. My dad left my mom when I was 2. Big deal. I don't care if you know.” God knew she would rather him find out through a file than actually talk about it. “It would just be nice if you became a little less... cemented.”

“Jen…” There it was again, her name. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought he was tempting her to be calm. “I’m trying.”

“You say that a lot.” She wasn’t sure if she believed it, but she hoped it was true. “ I don't even... care that much, really. I'm not—”  _ In this for you. _ She wasn’t, but it didn’t sound right in her head either, so she stopped herself. “I don't like bullshit. I told you that.”

The way he blinked at her, the look on his face—like she actually hurt him. She didn’t like it. “Is that what this was to you?” He motioned to the kitchen, but she knew what he meant. This time spent together, however long it was, whatever it was. “You think it was all bullshit?”

That wasn’t what she meant. It seemed like they both had different ideas of what was going on here. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I don't know what this was because I have no idea who you even are.” The words came off a little more harshly than she intended, but they were true, weren’t they? Over a month spent in this place, and she knew nothing about the man aside from the fact he was a prince that had an unhealthy dependence on scotch. The way he acted when she wouldn’t tell him why she wanted to go home. “You want me to spill everything to you when you can't even tell me why you're having a Selection in the first place.” The truth. A little harsh, maybe, but it was the truth.

“Because she wins!” His voice was raised beyond the volume she’d ever heard it, usually so refined now unhinged, panicky almost. “You don’t think she wants this?” He half-tossed his hands into the air.  _ Fuck, I broke him. _ “I've actually had a really nice time tonight and God.” He shook his head as if refusing himself to go on, and she could only sit there in shock. From the outburst. 

“W-Who wins? What are you talking about?”

“Felicity.” Oh.  _ Oh. _ She had not expected this change in conversation. How would Felicity win in this scenario? It seemed like having a Selection would be the absolute exact opposite thing she wanted, so why would telling her why be such a problem? “I can't even bake the damn snickerdoodles,” he said, pointing to the oven, and she suddenly understood.

Something had happened. She wasn’t going to ask what, and she doubted he would tell her, but that much was clear. She hopped off the counter without another word and took her steps toward him before resting both hands on either side of his arms. He didn’t remove himself from her grip this time. “Arin, what’s wrong?”

She hated the way he looked down at her and that empty look in his eyes, like every bit of light suddenly drained from it. “I’m so tired.”

She wasn’t going to ask why because she didn’t have to. She’d seen those eyes every morning in front of a mirror. It was never the lack of sleep. That she knew. Some days, she wished someone was there to help her, though she knew they never could. Those were also the days she wished someone would just hold her and tell her she would be okay eventually.

Before she could talk herself out of it, her hands slid from his arms down to his hands and gave a small squeeze. Just a little acknowledgment. “I know. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t deny the stress that went away only once he squeezed her hands back. He didn’t pull his grip away. That was something. “It doesn’t feel okay,” he said, his breath catching once before he released a shuddering sigh.

Anyone in this palace, any number of the Selected, knew him worlds better than she did, but at that single moment, she understood that feeling of acting like things were fine when everything seemed to be crumbling around you. She wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy, and even if she and Arin weren’t the best of friends, she didn’t want him to feel like this.

“I know it doesn’t,” she said after sniffling. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, emotions, the fact that it was after 2am, or a combination of it all, but she couldn’t stop the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I can't… I can’t even say it gets better because I don't know.” She wished it would, she really did. “But it's okay to feel it. Whatever it is.”

He let go of her hand and lifted his to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, but he didn’t remove it right away, rubbing at its mark with his thumb. “Jen… don’t cry.” How long had it been since someone had touched her like this, touched her like they actually cared? Even if he didn’t, it was nice to pretend he might have in some universe. 

She huffed a laugh mostly to keep herself from losing it even further, letting go of him to wipe her face with the heel of her palm. “You can’t say shit like that and expect me not to.” She swore she’s cried more in this palace than in the rest of her 23 years. 

She wasn’t really sure what to do anymore. He seemed… better, but he didn’t move away, so she didn’t either, just looked down as she wrapped her arms around herself. She could go back to her room now with the knowledge that at least she’d tried a little bit. She wouldn’t force this interaction to go on any longer than it had to.

Jen didn’t get the chance before his fingers brushed her arm, reaching out for her touch again, and maybe she was stupid to accept, but she liked to think if they both needed it, what could’ve been so bad? “Jen.”

She liked the way he said her name. Not Jennie. Nothing underneath the tone. Arin didn’t want anything from her. To him, she was just Jen. 

And his fingers stayed on her arm until they didn’t, until he pulled her to him, until his arms wrapped around her. She stood there for a solid few moments, heart pounding in her chest because there was no way anyone could have predicted this was how her night was going to go, but Arin Schreave was holding her. Arin Schreave was holding her, and she was pressed against his chest and gripping him like she hadn’t gripped anyone in a very long time.

It was in that way that Jen could pretend she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Arin?”

She barely remembered the words coming out from her mouth the moment they left. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d first pulled her into his grasps, but she preferred not to count the seconds. She didn’t need to.

“Yeah?”

She couldn’t let their gaze meet, couldn’t let the reality sink in, so she kept her face pressed against his chest. He didn’t smell like Versace. “I've had a really nice time tonight too.”

He shifted his hand to stroke her back. If she closed her eyes, she could get lost in a fantasy, but she couldn’t do that to either of them. Not when he was here, at least. She squeezed him a little tighter. “Thank you for staying,” he told her.

“I won’t go.” Her voice was quiet, murmured into the silence. The burnt cookies lay forgotten, and so does the scotch. “Not until you want me to.” She couldn’t let go. Even if he wanted to, she couldn’t. Not yet.

“I’ll stay.”

She almost cried again.

It was a lie, but it was one she would hold close.

The release of his grip was a slow one but inevitable, and it didn’t hurt quite as much as she thought it would. He took a step back, and she was suddenly flooded with a chill she didn’t remember being there before. She was only able to console herself with the fact that at least this time when he looked down at her, his gaze had a softness she hadn’t seen before. She mirrored him in taking a step back, raising a hand to wipe her cheeks against just to give herself something to do besides stare. She wasn’t sure she could take much more of it.

At her distance, he reached his hand out again, brushing it against her cheek the same way he had just a bit ago. “I’m still here.” He said it like a reminder. It was one she needed.

She reached it up to the hand on her face to entwine her fingers with his. Just like on the steps of the observatory. He didn’t pull away this time. She squeezed his hand. “I know.”

He’d stayed. For now.

His free hand pressed against the other side of his face. “We’ll be alright.” She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince her or himself, she didn’t know, but she liked to think what he said was true.

Someday, she would be okay. She could wake up in the morning and not regret it. She could go to sleep without him on her mind. Whenever she would think of him, it would be in distant memories laced with indifference. Even if she did hate Ian, it wouldn’t matter because he would be out of her life. Maybe not now, but someday.

“Yeah.” She leaned into his touch. “We will be.”

He didn’t pull away, so she didn’t either. She was content with being held for as long as he wanted to. God knew she needed it.

“Does it hurt?”

“It…” It did. Some days she could go most of the day without wallowing in too much pity, whenever Idalia forced her to do things or the girls in the Women’s Room were extra talkative and she could just listen in on whatever they were saying. Then there were other days where getting out of bed would’ve been impossible if it wasn’t for her maids telling her she needed to be at breakfast in ten minutes. Some nights were easy, and she could just stare out at the ocean in its steady calm while thinking about nothing. Others left her empty and holding nothing but the pillow she pressed her face into while she cried. “Not as much,” she answered finally, her voice soft as she leaned into the way he kept stroking her cheek. “But it still does.” He didn’t speak, but she didn’t give him time to. “Do you?” she asked, mostly to get the attention off her. 

She could feel him stiffen under her grasp, and she waited for the lie, but it never came. Instead, his answer was simple. “Yes.”

Both her hands went to his wrists, just to touch something, feel something. There were many things she could’ve said, but none of them sounded right in her head. Nothing adequate. “Okay,” she finally managed because she knew nothing else would matter. He would just be able to know now that she was there.

“Your hands are cold.”

She lifted her head to look up at him, ever aware of his height, and she couldn’t help but huff a little laugh at the comment as random as it was. Perhaps endearing as well if she was honest. Her grip on his wrists didn’t stray, but she allowed her fingers to venture over the back of his hands, pressing in gently to the skin there. “And yours are warm.”

She saw his throat bob before his eyes went to their hands. Far too intimate a scene for who they were. She waited for him to realize as much and pull away, but he never did. “Are they?”

Their eyes met, and she couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her lips. “Just a bit.” She’d never seen his face like this in the entire time she’d been in the palace. He was always so serious, always looked like he was thinking about everything all at once. She understood the feeling, knew what it was like, but she could still appreciate the softness in his eyes when he looked down at her like this. More than one part of her wished it would stay. 

“Jen.”

She tried to ignore the feeling in her chest when he said he said her name, like all the air in her lungs suddenly vanished all at once. It took her a moment to find words again, everything in her mind just silent for the first time in so long.

His eyes didn’t stray from her face, but something about them felt different. She looked away, not seeming to be able to deal with it anymore, but she didn’t stray from his grasp. She wasn’t lying when she told him she would stay for however long he wanted her to, and it didn’t seem like he wanted to let go. And truth be told, neither did she.

She couldn’t have retold how they ended up sitting on the ground with their backs against the cabinets or remembered what time she felt him shift against her, but it was obvious that it was late. The kitchen floor wasn’t the most comfortable surfaces, but her head was rested against his shoulder, and he was still holding her, and she was still holding him, and whatever the hour was, she still didn’t want to let go.

“Jen, it's getting late. We should get you to bed.”

She lifted her head to nod her agreement but didn’t let go quite yet. She wanted to stay, she really did, but if he wanted to let go, then so would she. Eventually.

“Come on, you’re tired.” 

He shifted a little again, which only aided in rousing her more, and she finally sat up, lifting her head completely off his shoulder to rub at her eyes. “I’m awake.” Whatever reverie that had been cast over them seemed lifted now, but she still couldn’t fathom why untangling their limbs from each other hurt as much as it did. 

When he stood and offered his hand to help her up, she accepted it but dropped it the moment she was on her feet. She could feel the distance between them regaining traction, but she still stayed by his side, close but not too close. She wasn’t sure how much he would accept any more.

They left everything behind in the kitchen—the burnt cookies, the nearly-empty glasses of scotch, the godforsaken book—but her head was a mixture of tiredness, confusion, scotch, and something else that she couldn’t even find it in herself to care. Instead, she walked in whatever direction he brought her, only pausing at the stairs whenever he stopped to offer out his hand again.

Her consideration didn’t take long because even if common sense told her it was better to keep the distance, the press of his hand against hers felt better than any shred of what her mind was telling her to do, so her position at his side didn’t change until they approached her bedroom door.

“End of the line,” she said, pressing her back against the door. She hoped he remembered the reference.

His hand squeezed hers as he gave her a nod, his glance falling to their hands. “I guess so.”

She squeezed back, also looking down at their hands. Maybe she shouldn’t have liked the way they fit together or the way he felt nothing like Ian, but she’d also done plenty of lying to herself in the past month. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  _ Today, more like. _

There was a hint of a smile on his lips when he finally let go of her. “See you at breakfast.”

She wasn’t sure how she would face him in just a few hours, but hopefully, her exhaustion would inhibit any resignations her brain would conjure up in the morning. “If I wake up for it.” She looked at him once more before turning the handle of her door. “Goodnight. I hope... you can sleep.”

Knowing it was better to leave now than try something she would regret later, Jen forced herself to leave him in that hall and lock the door behind her, no matter how much she wanted to open it back up and tell him to stay.


End file.
